The Game
by Rainstorm Amaya Arianrhod
Summary: Alex cottons on to an unexpected truth about Alan. Sort of Alex/Alanna.


**A/N:** A birthday present for Jackie. :) Please read and review!

**Disclaimer:** TP owns Tortall.

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It was a game they played, a cheerful competition that their friends laughed at ('look, there's Alan and Alex sparring again, don't they ever get bored'). Which of them was best?

Duke Gareth took care to praise them equally in the bouts they had before their teachers' eyes -special teaching for two talented boys- but Alex thought the Duke had more warmth for Alan. Alan might be blunt, shy and possessed of an unholy temper but he was nevertheless endearing: Alex had felt his accidental charm the first day he arrived at the palace. Alex didn't want his friends' undiscriminating cheers, he craved the praise of someone who really understood fencing, and half the time the cheers went to Alan anyway.

Alan, who had those confounded eyes.

Alex was convinced he was a better swordfighter than Alan, that he would be able to best Alan easily, if it weren't for those eyes. He wasn't like Gary, he didn't write verse to flowering buds or softly falling snow or whatever else that lovesick idiot had found to admire, up to and including Lady Cythera's delicate feet, but if he had written poetry, stupid sonnets with childish rhymes or asinine sestets, he might have written it about Alan's eyes. They were just... purple. No, they were violet, no such thing as purple eyes. They were endless and idealistic and painfully blunt and straightforward, much like Alan himself. And every time he fought Alan, unless he thought of nothing else but the sword in his hand and the next step, he would catch sight of those eyes, and be jolted for just a moment, just long enough for Alan to take advantage.

It wasn't even because they were extraordinary eyes. It didn't happen when he fought Jon –Jon was easy to beat- and arguably eyes of that Conté blue were as rare as Alan's violet, which caught him off guard every damned time.

He didn't care to think much about it, but he did anyway, and he didn't like it, it occupied him much too much. He found himself wondering why Alan was so shy and private, just like a little cat, a little like Alex himself. Except Alex was a cat, sleek and black and calculating, and Alan was a small ginger kitten, hissing and batting at a woolly toy mouse.

And that was far too far to take a metaphor.

It disturbed him, how much he thought about Alan. Surely this wasn't right, something alluded to only in whispers and snickers and coarse jokes. This was bordering on obsession. It was ridiculous, for a rational mind. He hid it.

But then, gradually, a wild idea struck him that firmed to a serious theory. Something about the way Alan moved, the way he spoke, and a glimpse of Jon with a short, violet-eyed lady who was a little nervous in the Lower City (Alex had been very careful not to be seen, and had melted into the crowd like the shadow he could be) told him. Alan... wasn't Alan.

Intrigued, he did a little quiet investigation. Alan's father was Lord Alan of Trebond, his brother Thom of Trebond, and although Alex wasn't certain of who Alan's mother had been for the boy never spoke of her, he thought she might have been Katherine of Haryse. Therefore, there would be records of Lord Alan and Lady Katherine's children's births in the Palace ledgers, and Alex very much doubted that Alan had tried to falsify those. It was simple enough to get access to the great ledgers that recorded the children of the noble families' names, Gifts and birthdates, and were abandoned after being filled, only touched by the occasional historian. Now, unless Alan was lying about his age too, he should be... ah, yes.

On the same day, more than a decade before, to the Lord of Trebond, Alan, and his wife, Katherine, Gifted twins had been born. Thom and Alanna of Trebond. _Alanna_.

Alex smiled, and shut the ledger and thanked the librarian with his most charming smile for his assistance. Here was information he could use to win that endless battle with Alan, that neverending game, and maybe start a new one, differently played, with Alanna. (_Alanna_. The name sounded right, it sounded nice when he said it, and it suited him- her.)

The next time he sparred with Alan alone, in a deserted practice court, because their friends were bored of the competition between the pair, Alex said quietly: "I know who you are." He watched the violet eyes widen, the hand freeze on the sword-hilt and the face whiten. Alex disarmed Alanna easily, and saw the fear change to defiance as the sword clattered to the floor. "I'm not planning on telling anyone, Alanna," he told her patiently. "This is far too delicious a secret to share."

Defiance changed to fury, and Alex leant forward and kissed the boy Alan, whose secret was out.

He saw it admitted in Alanna's violet eyes. He'd won.


End file.
